Against All Things Ending
by Harold Saxon
Summary: Rassilon has risen and the 10th Doctor is dead. Donna discovers that River Song has hidden an old enemy in her past, while in another dimension, the 11th Doctor is haunted by a ghost from his childhood who is trapped inside a nightmare mirror reality of torture and insanity. Donna Noble, 11th Doctor, Clara Oswald, River Song, Cumberbatch Master with Sherlock mannerism.
1. Chapter 1

_**Against All Things Ending.**_

_Author's Note:_

_"Against All Things Ending" belongs to a series called: "A Timelord and his madman", from which the first installment was posted in January 2010, directly after the final episode of the 10th Doctor. It is a sort of alternative season 5, in which the 10th Doctor has fortunately survived the events of "The End of time". Wandering alone through space and time in search of the Master (Simm Master), he finally succeeded to save the Master from the Timelock in the first story of the series called "His Silent Mind". Afterwards they have been traveling together as friends. Other installments include (In the right order): "Judoon Justice", "A Murderous Feast", "Shattered Worlds", "Before Harry met Lucy", "The Most Happy Bride", "This Reflection of Me" (In which Simm Master regenerated into Cumberbatch Master), and "A Map of the Soul (Cumberbatch Master)". If you're interested in the rest of the series and don't want to miss out on the Doctor's and the Master's previous adventures, hit the author button and find the links on my author page._

**_The Master's unrelenting thirst for revenge has unintentionally revived Rassilon and has caused the 10__th_**_** Doctor's death. Aware that the Doctor was protecting the Master for a reason, and guided by the prophecy of the Oods, River Song eventually spared the Master's life, although he still was made to pay a very heavy price.** _

_**Chapter 1**_

_**Breaking**_

**1.**

The first time that the door of his tiny prison cell swung open, the first time the harsh light flooded into the room and chased away the darkness, the first time _HE _came into his life, he still had his sense of self.

Dazed and disorientated, still hurting from the many bruises that covered his body, he squinted his eyes and tried to look up at the man who had appeared in the door-way. His face and features were indistinguishable, obscured by the stark contrast between the light and shadows. Kneeling on the dirty concrete floor, his hands tight with a coarse rope on his back, he couldn't stop his body from shaking as fear settled down in his stomach like a load of heavy pebbles. He ran his tongue nervously over the surface of his cracked lips, and tasted blood and dust.

"Please." He begged the man who was hidden by the biting, excruciating light. _God knows how long he had been kept here in the dark. Days, perhaps even weeks._ "Let me go. I…I don't know why I am here…" His dry, swollen tongue struggled to form the words. Fear, there was so much of it coursing through his system right now that he could hardly think. "I want to go home. My father." He tried desperately, running out of clever ideas. "He's rich. He can pay you. If you let me go he will pay you whatever you want…Please. I just want to go home."

He flinched when the man reached out and gently, almost tenderly, ran his fingertips over the purple and brown bruises of his bony cheeks.

"Your eyes." The man mused. His voice was calm, perfectly civilized, like that of a Victorian gentleman.

"What?" He answered feebly. His heart galloped wildly in his chest and he could feel every beat resonate in his parched throat as the man's fingers started to dig rigidly into his cheeks, forcing him to look up.

"They have not changed, despite everything else has." His captor continued. He inhaled through his nostrils and turned his head to the side. His grip on his cheeks tightened further till it started to hurt. "That vile stench." The man murmured, referring to the sharp smell of stale urine that lingered in the tiny claustrophobic space.

He shivered. He hadn't been outside ever since they had dragged him in. There was no toilet in his cell, not even a bucket to collect the waste, so he had been forced to relief himself in a corner of the room.

"You pissed on my floor." The man concluded. There was not a trace of a threat or even malice in his voice, which made what followed even more agonizing as he wasn't prepared to brace himself for it. The man struck out, hitting him on the side of the head. It propelled his body backwards and made him almost crack his skull open against the wall. The second blow fractured the cartilage in his left outer ear and sent his vision spinning. Confused and terrified, he struggled, trashing backwards on his long boney limbs as he slid on his backside, away from the blows, away from the man hidden in the fierce light. More blows followed, hard kicks in his stomach, on his legs, and on his torso. Rolling over the floor and howling like a wounded animal, he curled up into a trembling ball, hand and arms raised up to protect his head from the blows. It only earned him more vicious assaults on the back of his head and on his shoulders. He started to beg and cry as this continued relentlessly, the man's solid steel-tipped boots making repetitive impact with the bruising, bleeding soft tissues that slowly became the color of ripe fruit. It only stopped when one of his ribs cracked. The sheer agony of it forced him to roll on to his side, gasping for air as he vomited a thick mixture of blood and bile on the floor. A strong grip took hold of the short, close-cropped tufts of his hair and pulled his head up. The man was staring at him coldly, analytically, as if only to assess the severity of his injuries so he could decide to continue or not.

He didn't know where he found the courage. Even now, he couldn't understand why he said it. "Why." He whimpered, dazed by the pain, sweat dripping in his eyes and mixing with his tears. "Why?"

The man's response came swift and pitiless, a kick of his boot, exactly on the spot where the rib was broken. The explosion of pain that followed was like a sharp blade, slicing into his innards. Then the man _stepped_ on him, shoving down the steel tip in the bruised and bloodied area, slowly increasing the pressure. He jolted and cried out, a long hoarse moan that grew into a pitiful shriek.

The reason why I am hurting you now -" His captor explained calmly to him, almost like a father to a child. "Is because you _asked_ why I was hurting you."

He ground the tip into the damaged rib. With a deft twist of the ankle, the bone finally gave and snapped in two.

The shriek became a mad animalistic scream that did not cease till he finally lost his voice, long after the man had left him to his suffering.

* * *

_**The false memories of Donna Noble**_

**1.**

The room was a bare, ugly space, hidden somewhere deep in the bowels of the Judoon spaceship. There were no windows and no other doors except for the one through which she had just entered. The walls were grey, the color of aging metal, and from the ceiling came a single beam of light. It was so bright that she could see nothing for a moment, only that bright white glow, but when her eyes had finally adjusted, she noticed that there was also a table, and two chairs. The rest of the room was empty. There were no other distractions.

"Sit down Donna Noble." The host made a friendly gesture, pointing out a chair at her side. Donna hesitated.

"Are you afraid?" The host asked in a voice that sounded much like a synthetic airline hostess.

"No." Donna breathed in deeply. Then shook her head. "No I am not."

She sat down slowly. The host took the other chair, mimicking her actions like an imperfect reflection in the mirror. She didn't want to be rude, but she found it almost impossible to take her eyes off the strange being. Opposite to her sat a thin, humanoid creature with a strange elongated body. Its skin was a translucent membrane. Underneath, there was a swirling white light that was both tranquil and restless at the same time. The host's face had no protrusions, no lips, no nose or ears, and the only features that she could recognize were his eyes. They were like projections, two pools of ever changing shades of colors that shimmered underneath the host's translucent skin.

The host folded its hands and gazed at her, its fingers moving with a dreamlike elegance, like tentacles of a sea-creature trapped on the bottom of the ocean.

"Do you know the purpose of this meeting?" He asked.

"They said to me that if I wanted any answers, I should come and talk to you."

"Do you know who we are?"

"I guess so. River Song told me about you."

"Yet you appear doubtful. Don't you believe what you were told?"

Donna shrugged, keeping her skeptical look and shaking her head. "Even now with you sitting there, right in front of me, I still find it hard to believe that you really are, who they say you are."

"Oh but professor Song told the truth. We hosts are created by the future descendents of the human race. We function as the biological carriers for all of the members of the Shadow Alliance. Each one of us has the maximum capacity to house 1000 souls."

Donna just started to wonder how this strange creature was capable of speech if it had no mouth to form words. Nothing moved on the host's face. Even the eyes seemed dead, showing no signs of what it really thought, or felt. Even its voice, although melodious and pleasant, seemed to lack the faintest trace of humanity. No wonder it could not understand her bewilderment.

"Now you see, what you just said, that's totally bonkers. It can't be true that you have other people living inside of you."

"The creation of the hosts was a necessity, the next step in evolution." The host continued to explain slowly and pleasantly, as if to a young child. "Rassilon's forces threatened the existence of all the known races in the universe. The Final War has exhausted most of the natural resources of the limited number of life-sustainable planets. To survive we had to adapt quickly and evolve into a form that requires less energy. To combine multiple souls into one limited unit of biomass was the only logical solution."

"So that's how everyone is going to be in a few thousand years when they are not fighting on Rassilon's side?" Donna remarked. "They all look like alien robots and keep referring to themselves in plural like the queen of England?"

"In our care are members of at least 25 different races. We sustain memories and character profiles of Solonians, Xerons, Metalkinds, Alzarians, humans and Daleks. Unity is our salvation. The wisdom of each race has ensured our survival so far, but we are loosing the war, Donna Noble. The Shadow Proclamation is dying. My superiors have send us back in time to help you fight our enemy before he becomes unstoppable."

"Oh God, you've got parts of Dalek in you?" Donna could hardly conceal her aversion.

"Don't just discard them as a dysfunctional race. Their hunger for survival is the strongest of us all. There are no Dalek individuals, only the Dalek race. Like the Daleks, in order to survive and be victorious, we must sacrifice our individuality and combine our strengths." The host finally paused and took a moment to study her, angling his strange head to one side. "You seem…distressed?"

"This was your idea, wasn't it?" Although she had promised herself to remain calm before she came here, she was now barely in control of herself. "It was you who told the Shadow Proclamation to hide the Master away in my past."

"We do not understand your anger." The host stated innocently. "Did we not just explain to you that all of our actions are for the greater good?"

"You told River Song and her goons to mess with my memories!" She vented, finally pouring out her long hidden frustrations. "Thanks to you, I can't figure out what's real and what's fake anymore. Who gave you the bloody right to do this to me?!"

"But you do want to help us, don't you?" He continued calmly. "Professor Song informed us that you voluntarily opted to stay here instead of being send back to your own time frame. She told us that you wanted to aid the Shadow Forces in their battle against Rassilon."

"Yes, I wanted to _help_, but I didn't sign up to take part in some sick experiment." She covered her face with her hands and shook her head, red locks sweeping in front of her eyes. "I can't sleep." The exhaustion was evident in her voice. "Every night, I am having these horrible nightmares. It's turning me into a proper fruitcake." She shot him an accusing stare. "Tell me then mister egghead, how's that gonna help anyone?!"

"You underestimate your importance. Only you can bring him back to us."

"Who? The bloody Master?" Her scorned laughter was without joy. She crossed her arms over chest and slumped back into her chair.

"You know who I mean." The host answered, still with his synthetic zen-like calm. "You are our only hope."

Images flashed through in front of her mind's eye. Memories of a man resurfaced. _A wonderful, impossible man, who once had carried her away from her boring ordinary life in his fantastic blue box and took her to see other worlds. Whispers of a name… a name that was now called out all over the universe, countless of nations united in their cries for a savior in these dark and desperate times, but Donna knew that their hero would never come._

"What…what are you talking about…he's gone." Her heart broke when she said it. It was like parting with the Doctor all over again.

The host leaned forward and placed a silver, egg shaped device on the table.

"There is still hope, Donna Noble."

As soon as the host's slender fingers let go, the silver sphere lifted itself from the surface. Floating in the air, it projected an image to the host and Donna, an open window into a swirling vortex of light.

"The Doctor's last words. Can you still recall what he told you?"

_On the Ood's frozen planet, Donna was standing in front of the Tardis again. Snowflakes fell from the sky and brushed over her cheeks with icey kisses. The Doctor leaned forward, shielded her ear with his warm hand and whispered to her. _

Donna broke her gaze, blinking her eyes back to reality. "He said…he told me to take care of the boy in the mirror."

"And do you know the meaning of those words?"

She nodded feebly. "The boy is the Nightmare Child." A pause. "He wants me to look after the Master."

For as far it was possible for the future creature to show any emotions, he appeared to be content with her answer. "We asked the Shadow Proclamation to place the Master in your past to keep him out of reach of Rassilon's spies. The good and brilliant Doctor never did anything without a reason. He saved the Master's life, and we believe that the Master is key to resolving this deadly conflict. As the Doctor has placed him in your care, we reasoned that you must be a vital part of the solution."

"So you got me babysitting a psychopathic Timelord. Isn't that wizard." She crossed her arms again and stared at the host with an air of defiance and clear resentment burning in her eyes. "So what the heck do you want from me now?"

The colors of the vortex shifted from blue into fiery reds. This sudden change alarmed the host, and with a fluid movement of its ghostly hand, it summoned a projected keyboard on which he started typing a string of codes. His actions seemed to calm the swirling pool, and the hostile colors stared to fade back into tranquil blue.

The host caught her looking inquisitively at him. "This is all that remains of the Doctor's Tardis." He explained to her. "A fragment of the timevortex that was once part of the core. It is broken. You are the only one who can mend it."

"And how do I do that?"

"You are our only link to the Master. All this time, we knew where he was because you shared with him a common past."

"Oy! I don't share anything with that first class Judas." Donna reacted fiercely. "You can't trick me. I know what you did. I didn't really know him when I was a kid. You ordered River Song to put fake memories in my head to make me believe that I did."

"You are incorrect. We did not change your memories. Your timeline was altered when we used the chameleon arch to make the Master human and hid him in your past. We can ascertain you that all the events that you remember of your childhood are real."

"If that is true, how come I can remember two versions, two realities, one in which Martin Oakdown does not exist, and one in which…." She paused, bit her lower lip and slapped her hand flat on the table. "It is fake!" It has to be!"

"You carry the memories of two timelines, including the original one that was deleted. It must be a side-effect of your previous meta-crisis. You are indeed a remarkable woman Donna Noble."

"Oh zip it spaceman!" She told the host, fearing that she was at the very brink of losing her mind.

"We need your help." The host continued, ignoring her emotional turmoil. "The Master has vanished. You know that, don't you? Records state that Martin Oakdown disappeared from your life on December 15 in 1993. You must remember that. He just had returned from his expedition from the Arctic. The day before he disappeared you went to see him. He gave you a silver pendant as a gift. The one that is shaped like a snowflake."

It was as if the host's words had the power to awaken her senses, and she suddenly felt the sharp corners of the pendant press against her skin. Shaken, she stroked it with the tips of her fingers. Why did she decide to wear that bloody thing? "Stop it." She whispered, but the host was relentless.

"Ever since he disappeared you have worn it close to your heart. Didn't you use to make yourself believe that as long as you have that pendant, no harm will come to him? That your memory of your long lost friend protects him from fading from existence?"

"That _was NOT _me!" Confused and suddenly panicking, she pulled hard on the chain and felt the cord snap at the back of her neck. "That Donna died in London during an air raid." She flung the silver snowflake chain away over the table surface, like it was cursed. "I've been given this only a few days ago by River Song. It means _nothing_ to me!"

"Why are you still resisting? Don't you see that you both are the same?"

"I don't." She paused, fighting back tears of anger and frustration. "Do you understand?! I don't want to have anything to do with Martin Oakdown. It was the Master who killed the Doctor! If I should feel anything for that lowlife of a man it should be loathing and seething hatred. It's that easy! You, with your smug bloated mug with a thousand minds crammed inside, aren't you supposed to be clever?! Can't you see what this has done to me?!"

The host just gazed back at her in a long puzzled silence. Realizing that she was just venting out her frustrations on a creature that lacked any basic understanding of human emotions, she composed herself. "What do you want?" She finally whispered in a hoarse voice.

The host's eyes turned into two deep dark soulless pools as he held her gaze. "Our request is simple. Only you can help us track down the Master."

"You want me to find him?"

"We have no need of you providing such effort. All we require is for you to remember your lost friend."

Donna blinked her eyes. "I don't get it…is that all? After that you'll leave me alone?"

The host leaned back into his chair. "That is correct."

There was a moment of hesitation. "If I help you with this…Can you help me in return…can you take it away?"

"We do not understand your request."

"My memories. I want them erased. Everything I can remember of Martin Oakdown. I want it all gone." She said sternly.

The host cocked his head and studied her for a moment. "Truly, you hate this man so much?"

"Do we have a deal or not?" Donna pushed on.

"We find your terms to be…acceptable."

"All right." She breathed out a deeply. "Let's just…get this over with."

"I would like you to recall your very earliest memories." The host asked her in a matter of fact voice while in the projected image, the time vortex continued to turn calmly. "Can you do that? Can you tell me how you met him?"

* * *

_**The Doctor and the empty house**_

**1.**

"Where are we?" Clara Oswald had not been traveling with the Doctor for very long, but she could easily sense that he was nervous. "I take this isn't Barbados?" They were standing outside the Tardis, taking in the scenery. The red sky and the silver leafed trees made it seem very improbably to her that they had reached their intended tropical island destination, which was a damn shame. She was actually looking forward to a couple of days spend on the beach, lounging in the shades of palm-trees and getting a bronze tan.

"No. Not Barbados…" The Doctor muttered, glancing over the field of crimson grass, and looking very distracted. "Not Barbados at all."

"Well, can't we hop back in the Tardis and try again?" Clara asked, smiling hopefully.

"I am afraid the holiday is canceled." He paused for a heartbeat. "In fact, I am not even sure we can go back." He gave Clara a wide-eyed stare.

Clara pulled up her eyebrows and crossed her arms over her chest. "Are you serious?"

One look at the Doctor's face, and she knew he was.

"Remember that crack in the time vortex, the one I showed you on the radar?" He continued in his serious voice. So it wasn't a joke then.

"Yes, the one you said it wasn't much to be worry about. You called it a hairline fracture and convinced me that those appear all the time in the fabric of reality, because the whole thing stretches and bends a lot."

"Basically, I said that cracks were fine as long as I cannot fit my hand through any of them." The Doctor reminded her, while pacing up and down in front of the Tardis restlessly. "But now it appears that we just went through one of those cracks."

"What? How did that happen?"

"Well, possibly and most probably, the fracture grew, went from a tiny cute little baby fissure over to a not so tiny and not so cute very big massive hole. The Tardis lost her footing when we were on our way to Barbados and fell through, right into another dimension. Which reminds me, next time I tell you not to worry about something…"

"Should I be worried?" Clare asked, just to make things clear.

The Doctor pulled up his eyebrows and sucked in air through his nostrils. "I don't know. It depends." He replied in one breath.

"On what?"

"Well….This planet you see…It's not a planet that we are supposed to be on."

"Yes I know, we were supposed to be on Earth, 21th century, the island of Barbados, sipping cocktails, I have even booked us a cruise trip."

"A cruise trip, really?" He shook his head to get rid of the distracting thought. "That's not what I mean." He came up to Clara, hesitating if he should really tell her, decided not to, turned away, only to come back again. "This planet and its timelines should not be accessible, not ever. Not to anyone." He finally told her, fiddling with his fingers.

"It's sealed off? Why?"

"Because it's cursed." He didn't know how to explain it to her otherwise, not without opening the old wounds. "This is my home planet, the place where I came from….Gallifrey. The Timelords originated from here. For eons, we flourished and built our society here. A great civilization, one of the greatest of the known universe."

"Well, you must have been doing well if you lot can travel in time."

"But that was all before the war…the terrible time war…" He froze, a man trapped in the haunting memories of his past. "We have to get out of here." He muttered under his breath, more to himself than to his companion. "Something is terribly wrong. If the Tardis can fall through a crack in the time vortex and reach a time and place that is supposedly time-locked, then what else could be happening in the universe right now?" He spun around with a wild look in his eyes. "Clara, get inside, we must try to get the Tardis working…Clara?"

She had wandered off and was standing on the edge of the hill looking down over the valley below. "Look Doctor." She said in a soft voice, her gaze focused on the far distance. "There is a house. Just over there, behind that row of silver trees." She didn't know why it caught her attention, but for some reason, it seemed important that she showed it to Doctor.

The Doctor's hearts tightened when he realized what Clara was pointing out to him and grunted inwardly. Of all the possible places on Gallifrey they had to land exactly on this very spot. He had not returned here since the day he stole the Tardis and left his old life behind. Even when it was still possible to visit his planet's timeline, he had never found the courage to come back to this place. Too much had happened here, and too much of it was him to blame.

Clara shot a glance at the Doctor. "You said that this was your home?"

"No, not this place. Although I've spend many happy summers and winters here." His mind brought him back to his childhood, and to the long lost days in which he was out in the fields together with_ him_. Two boys growing up together, playing and running and screaming to the red sky. He pointed at the entrance of the building, where the old insignia of the great Oakdown family was carved out in stone right above the front doors. "This used to belong to my friend and his family. This is Oakdown Hall." He had to swallow hard before he could speak its name. It left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

"I think you should pay it a visit." Clara told him, but in her eyes the Doctor could detect a glint of worry, perhaps even fear. He realized that the way she got these strange gut feelings was starting to upset her.

"Why?" The Doctor asked, but already knowing the answer.

"To see if there's something that needs fixing. It's that what we do, right?" A small voice in the back of Clara's mind told her that she could not let the Doctor leave without finding out what was waiting for them in Oakdown Hall.

The Doctor hesitated. He knew about Clara's hunches. It had gotten them both out of a fair number of very hairy situations already, and he had learned to trust them, even if they seemed crazy and completely counter-intuitive sometimes. "Are you absolutely sure about this? 100% positive?" He asked, hoping she would change her mind.

"Why wouldn't I be?" She answered with a small smile.

He just looked at her, searching for an easier way out. Finally he gave up, and started descending the slope of the hill with reluctance in each and every step.

_**To be continued, meanwhile please review & comment!**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Breaking **

**2.**

He didn't know how long he had been left there, lying on the concrete floor, cold and neglected, covered by his own filth. The door opened a couple of times. Men came into the room. They probed and prodded his wounds as if to assess his physical condition, but he was hardly aware of it. Someone entered and brought him a pail of water. His throat was parched, he was dying of thirst, but he didn't dare to touch it. He didn't want to be forced to urinate in the cell. He was scared sick that the man would come back and hurt him again. His dazed mind, which used to be so clever and rational and so dammed brilliant came up with the idea of a possible link, and now it was clinching onto it like a frightened child to a plush toy.

Days went by.

His condition quickly deteriorated, dehydration pushing his already struggling organs to the edge. His heart beat became irregular, and he was either unconscious or delirious for most of the time. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, and his eyes glued shut due to lack of fluids to keep them moist. His thirst grew into a beast that consumed all of his thoughts and dreams. Finally, he gave in, his fear for the man succumbing to this beast of thirst, and he crawled to the pail and drunk from the water greedily and hastily till his stomach was bloated and he could drink no more. It may have saved his life, but soon he was lying on the floor, rolling uncomfortably from side to side. Hours later, the pressing sensation in the lower part of his abdomen had become unbearably, his bladder transformed into a painful fluid-filled balloon that tortured his insides. It was then that the door to his cell opened and he was dragged outside.

Emerging from total darkness into the sterile light of a hospital corridor, his deteriorated consciousness caught fleeting images of his surroundings, a nurse who quickened her pace and averted her eyes from him as she passed by, the broken tiles and the flaking green paint that covered much of the walls, a man in a soiled straightjacket, sitting up in a hospital bed with his shoulders hunched forward, a wild animal look in his eyes and drool dripping down his chin. They took him into a long rectangular room that stank of damp mould and raw sewage. Someone untied his hands and he cried out in agony when they grabbed his wrists and forced his cold and tightened muscles to overstretch by pulling his arms upwards. They secured his wrists on a chain that dangled from a rusty pipe running across the ceiling and hoisted him up till he was barely able to touch the tiled floor with the tip of his toes. His new extreme posture evoked the wrath of his already abused body, and every pain and that he had mercifully forgotten for the last 24 hours returned with a vengeance, causing him to spasm uncontrollably.

The first jet of water that hit him knocked the air out of his lungs. It resembled liquid ice but soon turned into a frosty javelin that stabbed his countless bruises and impaled his ribcage on the site of his broken rib. Intoxicated by this nightmare agony, his body screaming for clemency, he finally lost control of his bladder. Urine trickled down in dark brown streams, and mixed with the freezing water into yellowish pools before it disappeared into the drain. He was still peeing when they suddenly stopped blasting him with the jet of icy water. Still conscious enough to be fully aware of the humiliation, he turned his face shamefully away from his captors as he continued to relief himself, hot piss dripping down his legs. He couldn't stop. He was no longer in control of his body.

He winced when someone pinched his cheeks together and forced his head to turn back to face a fierce light that almost blinded him completely.

"You've wet yourself." This simple statement alone was enough to cause panic. The man was back. Weak, shaken and pathetic, he broke down, choking on his own sobs as the man's fingers dug deeper into his cheeks, his fingernails carving half-moon rings into his flesh. The man's lips brushed over his broken left ear as he leaned against him and whispered: "Now, who gave you the permission to do that, my boy?"

The outcome of this was, of course, inevitable. While his mind was trying to shut down to escape the brutality that followed, it couldn't stop from rewiring itself as it subconsciously linked cause to effect. It set up new rules for him to follow, and engraved fear into the most primal region of his mind to prevent him from ever making the same mistakes again.

He was being taught.

He needed to learn quickly, or else he would suffer the consequences.

* * *

_**The false memories of Donna Noble**_

**2.**

I was only still a little girl. Eight years old. My granddad got a dog for Christmas. Nan passed away that summer, and it was the first time that gramps lived on his own without her since he came back from the war. My mum was worried, so much even that she put her crazy phobias aside and went to the animal shelter herself to pick out a companion for him. Something to keep him busy, she said. It was an ace plan. He loved that dog. Reggie he called him. Short for Regina, my nan's middle name.

I was ecstatic. It was like having a pet of my own. I remember it was two days after Boxing day, gramps was visiting, and I was taking Reggie out for a walk. It was cold, and snowing, and it was getting dark pretty early, but I didn't mind, because inside every house of the neighborhood the Christmas lights were on, cheery twinkles glowing behind the windows. It felt like a fairytale walking through all that, a proper winter wonderland. There was only one house that remained dark, the curtains drawn. It was the old Victorian at the end of the street with the tall hedge surrounding the garden. We knew that there were posh people living in there, but we never saw them. My mum used to joke that they were probably vampires who only came out at night to buy a pint of virgin's blood at Harrods.

I was just passing by when something brown and furry darted from underneath the hedge. It was a small rabbit. I was so startled that I forgot to hold on to Reggie's leash, and before I knew it, the little dog pulled free of me. The rabbit dashed back underneath the foliage with Reggie on its fluffy tail, leaving me standing there on my own. I couldn't go home without him. My mum would kill me. So when I spotted a hole in the hedge I went through. As I crawled on my belly over the snow, I could hear Reggie barking in the garden.

"_What did you find on the other side?"_

A dog. Not my granddad's friendly hand-luggage sized Jack Russell terrier, but a mean German Sheppard the size of a small horse. He was bearing its teeth at me, ears flat against its fur and growling like a wolf. Needless to say, I ran for it. He chased me through the entire garden all the way up to the grand house. That dog was mental. I really thought that he was going to rip me apart if he ever caught up with me.

"_And how did you escape this predicament?"_

There was this huge oak tree growing close to the house. I am not exactly the athletic type, but I was really in a panic, and somehow managed to get up that tree faster than a frightened cat clawing up the curtains. It wasn't until I had almost reached the top that I looked back down and saw how high I had ended up. I am very bad with heights, and was hugging on to the branch for dear life when I heard someone shout at me.

"What you are doing in our family tree?" A boy was standing in front of a window. He was about my age, maybe a little bit older. Dressed in a brown checkered dressing gown, his face was long and looked extra pale with his mop of dark curly hair hanging low over his eyes. I've climbed so high that he was looking right at me from the second floor of his house. "You're not allowed to climb in there."

"It's not like I want to be here." I told him. "There's a mad dog down there in the garden. I think he wants to eat me."

He leaned out of the window to take a look at the crazy monster circling the tree. "That's just Bruno." He replied in a matter of fact voice. "He's our guard dog. He only bites trespassers and burglars."

"I am not a burglar."

"Yes but you are trespassing, aren't you?" He said an insufferable smug smile on his face. I wanted to slap him, if only I wasn't trapped in a tree with both my hands occupied with clinging onto a piece of wood that was starting to make really terrifying noises.

"O-o that doesn't look good." He furrowed his brows and studied my peculiar situation calmly. "How much do you weigh?"

"25 kilos." I lied, thinking that it was none of his business.

"No seriously." He chuckled. "You're like what 30,5 - 31 kilos? That branch is never going to hold you."

"Oh don't be such a smartass!" I yelled back at him, just before the tree made a snapping noise and the branch tumbled down till it barely clung on to the trunk, leaving me dangling at a most frightening angle.

"Help me!" I screamed out in panic. "Don't just stand there like a piece of furniture! Do something!" The boy disappeared for a moment, only to return with some sort of long metal construction that looked like a weird science project. Resting it on the windowsill, he shoved the long structure out of the window in my direction.

"Here grab hold of this and pull."

"Oh no! Forget it! I am not letting go! Not for this." I objected, clutching on so tightly the bark split between my fingers.

He rolled his blue eyes at me, muttered something under his breath, and tilted the end of the construction over my head by pushing it down on his side to get the needed leverage.

"What is this thing?" I asked, watching the structure getting locked in the nearby branches. It was composed of brightly colored metal parts. I was pretty sure that I had seen those parts before, stored in dusty old boxes up in granddad's attic.

"It's a Meccano bridge. I build it. Quickly, you have to climb over it now."

"What? Are you mental? I am not going to cross over on that!"

"Why not?"

"It's a toy bridge! It's not made for carrying real people."

He just shrugged and grinned, seemingly finding the whole situation more amusing than alarming. "It's strong enough. Trust me, it will hold you. Don't worry."

I really had no other choice, so I clumsily climbed on top of the toy bridge. My heart jumped in my throat when my weight caused it to buckle in the middle. "Just use it like a ladder on its side." He tried to reassure me. "If you hold on to the railing you will be perfectly safe."

Slowly, I inched my way towards him. At least this thing has metal nuts and bolts in it and wasn't made out of bleeding Lego, I kept telling myself. I was almost at the other end when all of a sudden the bridge dropped half a meter down, launching me backward. I managed to cling onto the railing and yelled my lungs out.

"You said it was going to hold me!"

"It's not the bridge. It's the branch! It's giving. Come one. You're almost here. Take my hand." He reached out to grab me, but I was still too far away.

"Can't reach it!" Then I noticing that he was still standing half a meter away from the window. "Can't you any get closer?" I complained.

He didn't move an inch, just kept leaning his upper body further out. His brows knitted in a worried frown when he noticed that the other end of the bridge started to sink lower and lower.

"Try harder!" He urged. "Come on!"

I stretched out towards him as far as I possible could. Finally our fingers touched, then his hand was wrapped around mine, pulling me to him. It was not a second too soon. Behind me, the Mecanno bridge slipped out of the window and tumbled two floors down into the snow. I was propelled forward in the opposite direction.

"Are you all right?" He asked, as I was lying on my tummy with my teeth scraping over the carpet.

"Of course I am not all right! You almost pulled my whole arm off! Why couldn't you even bother to move to…" I stopped moaning when I turned around and finally saw that the boy.

He was sitting in a wheelchair.

"Oh…oh I am so sorry." I felt my head flush with hot with blood. So that's why he couldn't get any closer to the window. "I…I didn't know –"

"It's all right." He acted as if it didn't bother him. Looking back now, I think he would have preferred me yelling than to have me apologizing to him. He never wanted to be pitied by anyone. Unfortunately, at that age I kinda lacked the smarts to keep my mouth shut.

"What happened to your legs?" I asked stupidly, gawking at him like I just saw them drop off in front of my eyes.

"Nothing." He glared back at me, clearly resentful of the question. "I was born like this. What? You've never seen someone in a wheelchair before?"

"Yes. Old people. Not some-one of my age."

"Well, congratulations." He huffed and angrily spun his wheelchair around. "I hope I have been very educational to you."

"Hey, I said I was sorry didn't I?"

I finally got a chance to look around in the room and noticed that it was packed with the most stupendous amount of toys. There was a workbench with boxes full of Mecanno parts, enough, I was sure, to build a ladder all the way up to the moon. There was a cupboard overflowing with games, ranging from Cluedo, Operation and Guess Who to that silly mouse trap game that I've been whining about to my mum for months, but never got. There was more Lego in that room than I have ever seen in a toyshop, and against the wall, there were bookshelves filled with rows and rows of books. It was a kid's dream come true.

"Is this your room?" I gasped, stunned with amazement.

"Yes, what of it?"

"It's amazing!" I exclaimed, hardly able to contain my excitement. "I could stay here for months without ever getting bored. Your parents must be rich!"

"It's compensation." He muttered, turning back to face me. "I'm not allowed to go outside, so my parents try to do it the other way around, and get as much of the outside world to fit in my room to cheer me up. Ignore the mess." He muttered, slightly embarrassed as I made my way through the packed room. "With a crazy logic like that of my mum and dad's it's just a matter a time before I ran out of space. They are moving me to a bigger room next week. At least you can't say they don't try."

I picked up a toy spaceship. It had two laser canons that lit up and made buzzing noises when you pressed in a series of buttons. "I wish I had this much stuff in my room."

"It's boring." He said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. "It's rubbish. I wouldn't mind to give everything away if I could trade it all for just one day out in the snow."

He looked really bitter and sad when he said it. I made me feel sorry for him. "Hey. Cheer up." I told him. "You're not going to stay inside forever. I know it's a real bugger, especially when it's snowing and you can't get out, but you'll get better. My cousin Jamie did. He broke his leg last year and had to spend the whole winter inside, but now he's up and about like the rest of us. My aunt even let him play soccer again."

"That's different." He snapped, angered by my clumsy attempt to be kind. "The doctors told my father that my leg-bones are not formed correctly. I am nothing like your cousin. I will never be able to walk." He paused when he noticed my shocked reaction. "Just...don't feel sorry for me. It's getting better. My legs used to hurt so much…Like…like they were on fire. Now they just hurt." He shrugged, all of his anger already dissipated. "Anyway, I got used to it." He studied my face. "I'm sure that I've seen you before. Do you live nearby?"

"Actually, I live in your street. If you look out of the window you can probably see my house. I can see yours from my bedroom window. At least, I see the huge hedge around your garden."

"I saw you pass by a couple of time." He admitted, seemingly interested. "You were in your school uniform. Richmond Elementary, right?"

"I haven't noticed you around. You go to a different place?" Probably one that's more posh than mine, I thought, but he shook his head.

"Home-tutoring. Like everything else, the teachers come to me."

"You really never go outside? Ever?"

"My parents won't allow it. The doctors say that I don't have an immune system. If I even catch something so ridiculously harmless like the common cold I am dead."

"So…if you don't go out, and don't go to school, when do see your friends?"

"Don't need friends. I can keep myself busy." He answered stubbornly, but the change of expression on his face told me he wasn't exactly happy with it.

I tried to change the subject. "You drew this? Is that your dad?" I pointed out a drawing that was stuck with two magnets on a whiteboard. At an age when most kids, including myself, were still drawing people as simple figures with big balloon heads balancing on broomsticks, he actually had made some very live-like sketches that would put the average grown-up artist to shame. "Is he a policeman?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, for a start, he's standing next to a blue box that says police."

"That's not my dad." He sighed as if he was offended by how stupid my question was. "That's the Doctor."

I frowned. "Who?"

"His name is the Doctor. He is an alien and he travels through time in his spaceship." He answered with such persuasion that I found it a bit disturbing. "And that's not a wooden police box. It's a time travel machine called the Tardis. It stands for Time and Relative Dimensions in Space."

"Oh-kay." Being locked up in a room on your own all the time was obviously not very good for your mental health. There were more drawings of the Doctor. More sketches of the blue police box on weird planets where the sky was red like it was dawn or entirely black, littered with the night's stars. He even had made a model of the Tardis out of a balsa wood, complete with a hand-puppet version of the Doctor with a happy-go-lucky grin plastered on his puppet face. And then there were these monsters. Aliens I supposed, made out of plaster and painted with great care. They came in all different types and sizes. Some looked like lizards in battle armor, others looked like robots with metal arms and legs. The weirdest ones were shaped like silver dustbins with miniature toilet plungers sticking out of their heads.

This boy had a seriously big imagination.

"You made all of these?" I asked him, picking up another hand-puppet that looked, alarmingly, a lot like him.

"It's the only thing that is not boring in my life."

"Do you and the Doctor have all kinds of adventures together? Is he like an imaginary friend?"

He stared at me like he was expecting me to burst out laughing any time. "You think that I am a total freak." He concluded.

"No No, I don't." I stammered, feeling guilty. To be fair, I actually did think he was a bit of a nutter. Here I was, stamping all over this crippled kid's feelings. "You know what. It's not that weird. I also have an imaginary friend. Her name is Amber. It's been a while since we played together, but I still talk to her whenever I am sad."

That was actually not completely untrue, and he seemed to relax a bit more.

"The Doctor is my only friend." He admitted in a soft voice.

"He doesn't seem like a bad one to have." I smiled, trying to cheer him up, and gestured at the wall with the drawings. "I'm sure he's amazing."

When I put the hand-puppet back on the shelf I noticed a bulky object standing next to the toy cupboard. It was narrow and as tall as a grown man, and was covered up with a large white bed-sheet. Curious, I went over and lifted up the fabric to see what was underneath.

"What are you doing? Leave that alone!" He warned, suddenly on edge.

"There is a mirror under this. Why do you keep it covered up?"

"No reason. Don't touch it!" Did I imagine it, or did he sound afraid? "Look, you should get out of here before anyone notices you. If my mum sees you standing here spewing germs all over me, she is going to have a serious fit."

I just emerged from underneath the sheet when a loud barking came from outside. We both shared a look and rushed over to the window.

"Reggie!" I watched wit terror how the little terrier was being chased around the tree by the big black monster that had tried to get to me earlier. Round and round they went like a crazy vortex of fur and teeth. "It's Reggie!" I turned to the boy. "Your bully of a dog is going to tear him to pieces! Call him back!"

"It's no use, Bruno won't listen to me. He only listens to my dad and Bernard."

"Who's Bernard?"

"Our gardener. He isn't here. He never comes on Wednesdays."

"Please." I begged him, coming close to panic. "We have to do something!"

"Okay, calm down, stop screaming like that and just let me think for a second!" He bit his lower lip while he contemplated. "Right. Give me something of yours. Quickly, something that smells."

"Oy! I don't smell!"

"Something with your scent!" he snapped his fingers at me. "Your scarf. Give me your scarf."

"What do you want to do with it?" I asked as I handed it over to him.

He rolled out what looked like a pimped up red lawn mower from underneath his bed.

"What is this?"

"A remote control race car. I got it for Christmas. Despite it being stupendously expensive I got bored with it pretty soon, so the Doctor and I took it apart and rebuild it into something much less boring." He fastened the scarf around the antenna. "Now, with your scent as a bait and our angry house pet waiting downstairs… this should be interesting." He gave me a mischievous grin before he push on the button of the remote control. The red race car rocketing out of the room and flew down the staircase with the engines roaring like a jet-plane.

"There is a camera attached to hood."He turned a switch and a tiny screen lit up, showing the downstairs hallway at ground level. "I can see exactly where we are going." He turned the tiny wheel in the center of the remote and the view rolled sideways, revealing the front door. "And out of the cat-flap we go." He muttered, punching in a green button that caused the springs in the hind wheels of the race car to uncoil. The toy was propelled right through the square hole and made a full turn in the air before landing back safely on its four wheels. Realizing that the thing was out in the garden, I rushed to the window to follow it course. Beneath the old oaktree, Bruno was still chasing Reggie, but then the race car appeared, shooting right between his legs. The mean black Sheppard immediately lost interest in my granddad's Jack Russell, and turned to chase after the toy car, snapping his jaws at my scarf with the ferocity of a hungry tiger going after a steak. The race car made a few turns around the three, making sure to keep Bruno's attention, before switching over to a higher gear and racing off over the lawn, luring the beasty away from the smaller dog.

"Yes!" I cheered, turning back to the room. "It works! It really works! He's leaving Reggie alone!"

"Of course it does." He said, keeping his eyes on the tiny screen. "Now get down there and grab your dog. I am going to give Bruno a few extra laps. He's getting slow. He could do with a bit of exercise."

I was heading for the door. "Thanks for helping me." I told him.

His face lit up with a thin smile. "Thank you for a not-so-boring afternoon."

"You know, you didn't tell me your name."

He appeared to be genuinely surprised. "Why do you want to know?"

"I just want to make friends."

"Why?" He asked, still puzzled. "It's not like I am ever going to see you again."

"Oh don't be daft. You're not living on another planet. Of course we will." I took his hand since he wasn't offering, and shook it firmly. "My name is Donna. Donna Noble."

"Martin." He replied, a bit uncertain. "Martin Oakdown."

He gave me instructions how to get out of the house. When I got to the hallway downstairs I looked back up. He was still outside his bedroom near the staircase, staring at me. It felt bad leaving him like that, all own his own. I sneaked out of the kitchen door, and ran back to the side of the house where I found Reggie underneath the old oak. I picked him up and petted the snow out of his wet fur. Martin was back inside his bedroom. Sitting alone behind the glass, he looked absolutely miserable. I waved at him and gestured that he should open the window.

"Are you still here Red?" He shouted down at me.

"If you want to I can come back to visit." I offered. "We could play together, run off and have adventures with the Doctor."

"You're serious?"

"There is a hole in your hedge on the other side of the garden. It's easy for me to get in."

He seemed to be tempted by the offer. "But my mother…"

"She doesn't need to know."

"Donna…" His face suddenly showed hesitation, but I just kept chatting.

"Your parents shouldn't listen to those doctors. They can't just lock you up in your room the rest of your life because they are afraid to get ill. You're missing out on so much! Look!" I scooped up a big handful of snow and squeezed it tightly into a ball. "It's snowing outside, and you can't even get out into your own back garden to build a snowman with me, or do this!" I launched the snowball at him. It hit the window frame and showered his coat with a light dusting of snow.

"Hey stop that!" He shouted back, but wasn't angry. "What are you doing?"

"Having a snow-fight." I laughed. "I know it's not entirely fair, but if you step aside I can throw you more snow, and then you can make your own snowballs to throw back at me."

"Donna stop." He paused, his face all serious while he made a turning motion with his finger, meaning_ look behind you_.

A gloved hand touched my shoulder. I jumped and immediately turned around. A woman in a black fur coat was standing behind me. She was tall and willowy, her lips pressed into a thin red line. The stony look she gave me reminded me of my mum on a very bad day.

"Who are you?" She asked in a stern voice. "And what are you're doing to my son?"

* * *

**The Doctor and the empty house**

**2.**

"You never told me that your home planet was so beautiful." Clara commented as they made their way down to Oakdown Hall. They were following a slivering road under a canopy of silver oak trees that was lined by a spectacular bloom of wild meadow growth. "Look at these flowers, they are amazing."

"It's rundown." The Doctor complained. The proud memory of how it once was would not allow him to see it any differently. "The gardens, the fields surrounding the estate, it's all unkept, allowed to grow wild. You should have seen this place back in its glory days. Lady Oakdown used to spend a fortune on a small army of gardeners to keep it looking respectable. The lawn was so manicured to perfection that I was terrified to even look at it…But now..." The Doctor stopped and gazed at an uprooted oaktree. It had probably come down with the winter thunderstorms and was blocking the road, but no-one had been bothered to clear it. The tree's branches had already withered and its crown of leaves was long since brown and dead. The very sight of it made his hearts cringe again.

"There still is a beauty in this place." Clara noticed optimistically. "It looks peaceful…almost serene."

"Yes, the way graveyards look peaceful." The Doctor commented, arching his brows. "Until you accidently walk over the dead." He stuck his hands inside his pockets and continued their journey with a brooding look on his face.

"So, that friend of yours, what is he like?" Clara asked after a long silence.

"What? Why? Why do you want to know?" He answered, distracted and not exactly being his chatty old self.

"Well, we're going to meet him, aren't we?"

The Doctor ballooned his cheeks and blew out the air between his lips. "That's not very likely." The Doctor grimacing like he was having a toothache.

"What do you mean? Doesn't he live here?"

"Oh he hasn't for a very-_very_ long time."

Clara waited for him to further clarify this, but he didn't say another word about it.

"Could you just stop and tell me what happened here?" Clara finally asked, noticing how unhappy and worried he had grown with every step that brought him closer to the estate. "You really don't want to be here, do you?"

He just shook his head. "Not now Clara." _Too many bad memories._

Oakdown Hall had aged into the Doctor's grim expectations. The moon-stone walls that had once shone like pale celestial-stars had become dull and dark, covered by layers of soot and grime. The wooden structures that framed the countless tall windows in the building were rotting away and on parts of the roof, weed was growing between the cracked tiles. Even the Oakdown family's insignia had been unkindly touched by time. The stone crown of the proud oak-tree had eroded away by acids in the rain and air, leaving only the bare lower branches visible. The Doctor tried the door, and found that it was left unlocked.

_Come on then feet, don't let me down now._ He braced himself and stepped over the threshold with Clara following closely behind.

* * *

**The false memories of Donna Noble**

**3.**

As the light in the vortex became brighter, the room, by comparison, became much, much darker. The window that showed her the past seemed to grow, and threatened to swallow her whole.

"_What's going on? What is this?" Donna whispered._

"_Your recollections are healing the vortex. It has absorbed your memories, and it is showing it back to us like a reflection, only far more clearly. By doing so, it will help you to gain access to the deeper regions of your mind. You don't need to be alarmed. The process is perfectly safe. Just proceed."_

The room began to dissolve around her, the chair in which she sat, the harsh light beaming from the ceiling, the ugly walls, all broke down into ribbons, then atoms, before they were put together again, reshaped into a new reality.

A young spring sun beamed down from a pale blue sky. The smell of flowers and fresh cut grass hung heavy in the air. A young Donna wheeled Martin over the lawn. Martin's legs were now wrapped in a cage of metal that locked them into a rigid position when he straightened his limbs. Bernard the gardener is standing next to the children, and looked down worriedly at the boy.

"Are you really going to do this my lad? I don't mind making these braces for you, but if you fall and hurt yourself..."

"It's all right." Martin replied, realizing what Bernard was fretting about. "I will tell my parents that it's all my idea. You won't get blamed for any of this if it goes wrong." He reassured him.

"It's just that they are not home right now, and I can't drive a car. What if you injure yourself and need to see a doctor?"

"He won't." The young girl said it with such a faith in him that Martin found it touching. "The leg-braces will work, right?"

"Of course they will." He answered defiantly. "I've designed them. The only thing that could go wrong is Bernard's sloppy DIY work."

"That's not really comforting lad." The gardener said, resenting the boy's comment.

"oh just stop worrying Bernard." Martin sighed. "Like Donna said, I am going to be fine."

"Ready to do this?" Donna opted.

Martin nodded, but his expression was extremely tensed.

"Don't worry." She whispered into his ear. "If you fall, I'll catch you." She squeezed softly in his hand before she moved away from the front of the wheelchair, making room for him to start.

He placed his feet on the lawn and slowly, carefully, leaned forward, putting weight on his legs. The pain immediately shot up into his face and Donna found herself gasping for air. She reached out to support him, but he gently pushed her back. He needed a moment to balance himself. It was like his legs were filled with broken glass, and by forcing himself to stand on these wretched things the shear weight of his body was pushing the shards through his muscles, cutting through skin and tendons.

"Are you all right?" Donna asked, as she watched him pained actions with growing concern.

Sweat was trickling down his temples and into his eyes. He pressed his lips together to muffle a scream when he moved his legs, forcing them from the 90-degree angle positions into straight lines. The shards inside his legs splintered again into a thousand pieces and the agony became horrendous. His heart raced. His head was spinning.

"Careful!" Donna managed to grab hold of him just before he was about to keel over.

"Let him sit back down. He's passing out!" Bernard pushed Donna aside and tried to guide the boy back into to wheelchair.

"No…no." Martin muttered, struggling weakly against his grip, his voice so low that only Donna could hear. "No don't. If I give up now, I won't ever try again."

She understood him perfectly. "Please." She begged the gardener. "Let him. Just one more try."

Bernard reluctantly backed away and let her take over the support of the young boy. With her help he tried to straighten his legs for a second time.

"Hold on to me." She was so engaged in his struggles that she hardly felt the pinch of his fingers digging deep into her shoulder. "Don't give up, you're almost there. Just a little more, come on."

He uttered a cry of pain and relief when the locking mechanism of the braces finally snapped into place with a loud metallic clang. Shaking and panting heavily, he looked up at Donna with a wide triumphant smile.

"I am standing!" His voice was strained by exhaustion. 'Look Donna! I am really standing up!"

It was at that exact same moment that the family car pulled up the drive way. Lady Oakdown stepped out, and the minute she saw her son's wheelchair out in the garden, she came running at them over the lawn with lord Oakdown in close pursuit.

"What were you thinking!?" She shouted at Donna from afar as she half stumbled over the seams of her dress. "Taking my son out in the open air, are you trying to kill him?! And you!" She and pointed accusingly at the gardener. "You let her. You are fired Bernard, do you hear me?!"

"Please, darling." Lord Oakdown huffed, trying to calm her down. "Remember that we have talked about this."

"I should have never listened to you." She sneered back at him over her shoulder. "That girl is an awful influence. I knew it from the first day I set eyes on her." Coming closer, she finally noticed that the wheelchair was empty. "Where is he?" She stared at the other two, perplexed and anguished. "Where is Martin?"

"I am here." Bernard stepped aside to reveal the young master, still shivering but standing, his hands clutching firmly on Donna's arm for support.

All the anger washed out of Lady Oakdown features to be replaced by those of shock. "You're…" She broke off her sentence and covered her mouth with a shaky hand. "My God…My boy…This is a miracle."

"No mother…it's just me." Martin told her, tired, but with a self-assured smile and a extremely proud glint in his eyes. "And look what I can do with the help of my friend."

_**To be continued, meanwhile please review or comment!**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_**Breaking**_

**3.**

He thought he might be dreaming when he woke up lying on the floor in front of the tall mirror. It was the same mirror, he remembered, that used to stand in his old bedroom, covered by a white sheet.

Lifting his head from the dusty carpet, he blinked his puffy eyes against the light that flooded in through the window. In the watery sunlight that was filled with a trillion dust particles, his old bedroom looked neglected. A thin layer of dust covered his bed and furniture. The ceiling was thick with ancient cobwebs, and on the walls dark patches of damp were visible.

Nervousness settled in his aching bones, and he bit on his lower lip, his front teeth scraping off scraps of skin till it bled an iron tang into his mouth.

He didn't want to be here. If he was dreaming, he needed to wake up and get back to the hellish consciousness of his concrete cell. If he stayed unconscious for too long, his captors will notice, and then _the man _will come. He will be punished. His bloodied and swollen hands reminded him of what the man could do to him if he disobeyed his orders again. None of his fingers had any nails left on them after they were skillfully removed with a thin filet knife and a set of rusty pliers.

But if this was just a dream, why did it still hurt so much?

Clumsily, he pushed his bony knees under his belly, drooling blood and saliva, winching as every movement he made caused his healing rib to throb achingly in his chest. When he finally managed to get on all fours, gravity led a rush of blood down into his hands. The increased pressure in his fingers caused the badly closed wounds to split wide open and he whimpered.

His bleeding fingertips left a smear of blood over the dusty carpet. He was distracted by its vibrant color for a moment, mesmerized and horrified at the same time. Then he raised his head towards the mirror. In his blurry sight he finally caught the wretched creature in the reflection.

His naked body was so filthy that he looked grey. Disgusting stains ran between his buttocks, all the way down his legs to his feet. He was covered in open sores, his skin was a patchwork of colors ranging from angry red, deep purple to faint yellows and blues. Inflamed areas around his wrists marked where his restrains had been. His hair had grown back, and had become a tangled crow's nest infested with lice. They hung in dirty strings in front of his eyes, which were deep-sunken, lifeless and dead.

With his damaged mind almost unable to link the pitiful image to himself, he traced his features with his bleeding fingers, smearing blood all over his hollow cheeks and his battered jawbone. It was swollen, and ached so much that he could hardly close his mouth. It left him drooling constantly.

He cocked his head, nervously nudging his shoulder up against his cheek, and looked at the horrified face in the mirror, transfixed by the blood before raw dread kicked in, triggered by a sudden change of light that was reflected on the mirror surface.

He trashed backwards, screaming like a mad animal as all of his childhood fears resurfaced. He grabbed hold of what ever he could get his hands on and hurled it at the mirror in sheer panic.

The toy race car, the red paint long since faded to a dull pink, crashed into the reflective surface, creating a spiderweb of cracks before the splintered shards dropped out of the wooden frame in a rain of glass.

"I am _not _going back!"

Although his words were forceful, his voice was trembling, hoarse by the lack of use. Tears stung his eyes as the pain shot through his rotting jaw. Suddenly getting frightfully aware of his own disobedience to his cruel master, he crawled away from the mirror over a carpet that was now littered with broken glass. Mind-numbing fear was making him completely oblivious to the countless of cuts into his knees and legs and hands.

"M'sorry. M' sorry! Please…don't – don't." He murmured as he backed out of the room. He half-stumbled over something soft that was lying near the staircase.

It was the body of a woman. Her abdomen was bloated, her eyes, mouth and nostrils covered with flies. With her stiff fingers she was holding onto a photograph of a little boy in a wheelchair. All around her lay suitcases, thrown wide open with their content spilled out onto the staircase, littering the landing with the woman's clothes and personal belongings.

He leaned forward over her, examining her face. Her hair was spread out like a halo around it, a crown of gold and crusted blood. With a trembling hand, he gently stroked a lock away from her eyes.

"Oh no." He murmured, slowly caressing her cold blue cheeks with his fingers. "No. No. Please, no."

A hard-wrenching whine followed, which he forced himself to smother by cramming a fist into his mouth. _He could not scream. He must not scream._ _The man hated it when he screamed. Never must he scream. _

Sobbing quietly, he curled up and folded his arms over his head, preparing himself for the punches that did not come while slowly and compulsively rocking back and forth for comfort.

"Mom." He cried, as tears flowed down his ruined cheeks, and dripped from his chin onto her dress. "Please, wake up. Wake up."

He buried his face in her bosom, ignoring the stench of decay that hung around her like a funeral shroud, and draped her arm around his shoulder as he curled up next to her.

He lay there for a long time, his sobs slowly subsiding into a weak incoherent murmur as he held on to her.

* * *

_**The Doctor and the empty house**_

**3.**

Inside, great Oakdown hall looked quite the opposite from its crumbling façade. The mosaic floor in the entrance hall was recently waxed and shone like a flawless mirror. Not a speck of dust could be found on the steps of the grand staircase. The crystal chandeliers were all cobweb free and sparkled in the late afternoon sun. The Doctor cast his eyes over the familiar faces in the gold-framed portraits of the Oakdown family. For the third time since they had landed, he felt his hearts bleed. When he stepped inside, he had expected to find a bleak, desolated place, an echo that had faded into the past. He would have accepted it. Instead, he felt he had walked into a lively memory, a place trapped inside a time-bubble in which it seemed that at any moment now, someone he knew from his childhood could walk right in to greet him. He wasn't trespassing a graveyard. "Oh no, it's more like walking into a living tomb." He muttered under his breath.

Without realizing that he was guided by his memory, the Doctor took Clara straight to the living room. The furniture was still arranged in the same way as he remembered from his youth. There was lord Oakdown's favorite highchair, right next to the marble fireplace where he used to sit and read to the boys on cold winter nights. And there in the corner stood lady Oakdown's harpsichord, a cherished family heirloom. She could play on it like an angel, would not even allow the children to touch it.

"It used to be such a glorious place." The Doctor told Clara, his hearts were suddenly overflowing with melancholy and a deep sense of loss overwhelmed him as his mind's eye kept filling in the empty spaces with people and laughter.

"Saint Clemens day." He reminisced, placing his hand on the cool fireplace mantle. "A roaring fire in the hearth. Countless of guests, all important of course, lord Oakdown was well-respected member of the Timelord council. Mountains of food flooding in from the kitchen onto the dining tables. Toys and presents, and games…oh the wonderful games we used to play." He cheered, smiling sadly. "When we were young, we didn't know any better. Everyday was like Christmas and life was one great adventure. We thought that we had all the time in the world really."

"What happened?" Clara dared to ask.

"We grew up." He said, regretfully. He looked away, sweeping his eyes over the floor next to the fireplace. Something shiny caught his attention. He squatted down to take a better look at it. It was a thin shard of glass, triangular of shape, lined with a smear of blood on one edge. When he picked it up, an icy chill ran through his fingers.

It was as if he had touched winter frost.

"Who are you two? What are you doing in here?" An elderly voice asked, just when the Doctor rose back to his feet. He quickly pocketed the shard away and was about to take out the physic paper, when he remembered that he was on Gallifrey. His bag of usual tricks won't work on his fellow Timelords.

"Ah hello there." He improvised quickly as he swirled around. "You know you left the door wide open –". He was about to say something clever and a bit confusing, but then he saw the old man who was standing in the door-way, carrying a bucket with a cleaning mop in his hand.

"Groundmaster Arziah?" It has been a long time, but he almost instantly recognized him. The caretaker had not regenerated since the last time he had seen him. The Doctor, of course, had. Countless of times, but for a species that had evolved to cheat death by regeneration of its entire cellular structure, a new face and body was only superficial, just an outer layer that was as thin as paint. It could be easily seen through to get to the individual underneath. It took Arziah only a second to recognize the stranger standing in front of him.

"You're that Sigma boy." A smile of recognition dawned on his lips. "The friend of our young master. How did you name yourself…hang on…I remember this!…it's the Doctor, right?"

'What does he mean, you named yourself?" Clara asked, arching a brow.

"Oh it's an old custom, every child of Gallifrey was to chose his or her own name." The Doctor took Arziah's hand and shook it whole heartedly. "Yes, yes! I am the Doctor!" He said with a radiant smile. "And you! Look at you!" He exclaimed, stepping back and waving his arms in excitement. "You're still you!" He concluded with a cheer.

"Nothing ever happens here." The old man replied, broadening his smile. "You know that. If it goes on like this I will still be in my second regeneration by the time you run out of all of yours!" Arziah was only joking of course. He couldn't know the number of regenerations the Doctor had already gone through, but the very irony of how close the old man was to the truth had not eluded the Doctor.

"Who is this lovely young lady?" Arziah asked, casting his eyes on Clara.

"Oh, that's Clara." The Doctor answered, snapping out of his worries. "Clara Oswin Oswald, she's my traveling companion."

"Oh I see." Arziah inspected her for a moment. "Let me guess, human?"

"If you mean human in species, yeah." Clara acknowledged with a polite and friendly smile.

"I knew it!" Arziah clapped in his hands. "He always had a fascination with Earth. Even when he was a little boy he was always going on and on about what he read about that blue speck of a planet. Lovely to meet you Clara! I am Arziah, the groundmaster of the Oakdown family estate. Although nowadays, this grand-title just means that I am a glorified housekeeper of some sort."

"You knew the Doctor when he was little?" Clara asked with a devious glint in her eyes.

"Don't say anything!" The Doctor pointed out hastily. "Not anything embarrassing at least. Unless you want to tell her how incredibly clever I already was at a very young age." He added, standing a bit taller and straightening his bow tie.

"I bet you was.' Clara remarked, giving him a wink. She turned back to Arziah. "You're the one who keeps all of this tidy?"

"I am afraid so. I live here almost on my own now. All the other members of the staff have left. Only Mrs. Ruthician is still here, but she is on her last legs and has no other place to go, the poor woman."

"Where is lady Oakdown?" The Doctor craned his neck to look back over his shoulder at the door, suddenly expecting the strict and slightly scary Timelady to make an entrance.

"She packed her stuff and left the place years ago. Went to live with her relatives in the north." Arziah paused when he noticed the quizzical expression on the Doctor's face. "People who don't know the lady very well often think that she is stone-hearted.' He continued. "But I have seen her. I saw how she was after that…most unfortunate incident. She was a broken woman. Couldn't cope. She had to leave. After what happened, no-one could blame her."

"What? What incident?" Clara noted, but the Doctor wasn't going to let Arziah answer her question.

"If she is no longer living here, why are you still keeping all this up?" He asked quickly, and leaned closer, whispering into Arziah's ear so Clara wouldn't hear. "You're not waiting for _him_ to return, are you?"

"No, of course not." Arziah gave him a fierce look. "If anything, it is my duty to the Timelord council to report the young master when he ever dares to come back. To be frank, if one day, he was finally arrested and put on trail for his atrocities, I wouldn't grief over it." He paused and sighed deeply. "Lord Oakdown was a good man. He didn't deserve what happened to him."

The Doctor nodded solemnly and stepped away. Arziah's answer had eased his discomfort a little, but he still couldn't stop the feeling that he was treading on bones. "So you keep everything as it was in honor of lord Oakdown's memories?"

"For Clement's sake no." Arziah shook his head warily. "Some parts of the house, perhaps, but not every room. You used to stay here, you remember how many there are! No, but the duke wants it. He pays me a handsome sum to keep the place exactly like it was the day the old master died."

"The duke? What duke?" The Doctor asked, furrowing his brows.

"The Duke of Deargloom, lord Oakdown's younger brother. He was in line to inherit the estate. After the young master was publicly denounced by the council and vanished from the known universe without a trace, Oakdown hall inevitably became his."

"Really, that's funny. He never mentioned that he had an uncle." The Doctor muttered.

"You were still children and the duke didn't come to visit very often. Actually-" Arziah added pensively. "I can't really recall that he did when the old master was still alive. Maybe the young master has never even met him."

"So the Duke of Deargloom lives here now." The Doctor glanced around, still wearing a skeptic frown on his face. "Looks like he's rather a humble man, doesn't like to put a seal on his own property, does he?" He commented, noticing the lack of display of the Duke's personal items.

"He's not really living here." Arziah explained to him. "He comes to visit. He stays only one night, every last day of each season, like clockwork. He lives in the capital you see, near the government's citadel. He took his brother's seat in the council."

"Well, he must love his late brother very much if he pays you to take care of the old estate." Clara opted.

"What? You mean to run it like a museum of tears and family misfortune?" The Doctor reacted doubtfully, folding his hands at his back and spinning around. There was something fishy about this story. Something important was being overlooked, but however much he was trying to think it through, he just couldn't figure it out. "Oh I wish I wasn't so slow." He slapped himself on the forehead several times before he turned back to Arziah, visibly annoyed. "Do you have a spare room? Can we perhaps stay for a couple of nights?" He had said it before he could regret it.

"Yes of course we have, countless of spare bed-rooms. Why do you want to stay?"

"Oh well, I promised Clara a little holiday, and since we're here why not make the best out of it!" The Doctor smiled and rubbed his hands together. "What do you say Clara? Early walks out in the countryside, plenty of fresh air, maybe a bit of water-painting and afternoon tea with buttered scones? " He gave her wink that was a bit too obvious.

"Sounds very relaxing." Clara replied, although it more sounded like a daytrip for 80-year old pensioners to her. "_Really_ looking forward to all that."

"See! She likes it!" The Doctor pointed out. "And you obviously, wouldn't mind a bit of company." He insisted.

"No. I wouldn't." Arziah responded, still somewhat puzzled. "All right. I can't see why not. It's going to be yet another month before the duke's next visit. I can make some arrangements. Let me see, Clara can sleep in the servant's room next to lady Oakdown's bedchamber, and you can take the young Master's old bedroom if you –"

"You know what, I really would prefer to sleep somewhere else." The Doctor interrupted him hastily, giving him a nervous grin. Treading on bones was one thing, sleeping in his old enemy's bed was just taunting with fate.

"Ehm, _what_ are we doing?" Clara whispered to the Doctor after Arziah went out of the room to take care of some preparations.

"Having a holiday and playing the perfect houseguests." The Doctor answered, still grinning his tooth-achy grin. "Let's hope the rest of the house agrees."

And he wasn't referring to the ancient Mrs. Ruthician.

* * *

_**Breaking**_

**4.**

It wasn't until he heard the dogs, barking below at the foot of the staircase that he snapped out of his half-catatonic state. He crawled closer on his elbows and peered down between the wooden bars of the railing. In the gloomy darkness he could distinguish the three mutts who were fighting over of bone. It still had some scraps of meat on it, wrapped in what looked like some well-chewed pieces of fabric. A fourth dog came out of the kitchen. It was a huge black German shepherd, not unlike their old family dog Bruno. It had a dangerous rabid look in its eyes.

The shepherd was dragging something over the floor that left a long dark smudge over the tiles.

It was the carcass of a man, legless, with ribs sticking through the torn and bloodied shirt. The Sheppard clawed at the man's neck, and a severed head, only still connected to rest of the body by a thin thread of pink sinew, rolled into full view.

His father's face was gruesomely mutilated, almost unrecognizable, the part below his eyes already turned into the bloody grin of a lipless skull. He couldn't stop himself from uttering a guttural cry of horror when he saw how the shepherd took the jaw between his powerful teeth and dislodged it with a loud sickening crunch.

The feral dogs pointed their ears and gazed up at the shivering human who was half-hiding himself behind the railing at the top of the stairs. The big shepherd dropped his father's jawbone, licked his nose and sniffed the air, picking up the metallic scent of warm blood oozing from the many cuts on his body. The dog's eyes glazed over and it eagerly jumped up the staircase, taking several steps at once. It was followed by the rest of the dogs. Each one eyed their newfound prey with the same starved look glinting in their white-rimmed eyes.

He panicked and kicked one of the suitcases down the stairs, but that only startled the dogs for a second before they regrouped and continued their climb. Ears held flat against their necks, they were growling aggressively as they become more and more drunk on the scent of fresh blood and warm meat.

Desperately scrambling away from this wall of teeth and claws that was closing in on him, he accidentally lost his footing, his hands and feet slipping over the semi-coagulated pools of his own blood. All of a sudden, he was rolling down the steps at a dangerous, breath-taking speed. He would have ended up breaking his neck if his fall had not been softened by his mother's clothes that became entwined with his limbs. After landing hard on the floor tiles, he managed to quickly untangle himself, struggled up and limped to the door with the canine pack barking and napping at his heels. Just when they were about to catch up with him, he crossed the threshold and slammed the door, leaving the dogs trapped inside.

His stomach churned up bile as he sank through his trembling knees, leaning with his back against the panel. Even with his hands pressed against his ears he could still hear the enraged barks ringing on the other side, and every time the mad beasts banged against the wood and made it shudder, he uttered a muffled cry in fear.

_You think you can just run away?_ The man told him calmly as he held his ferocious canines at a short distance, pulling hard on their leashes. He was chained up inside a small wooden box that was no bigger than a small fridge. Iron collars bound his wrists, neck and feet. He couldn't escape, and he was fully exposed to the blood-thirsty hounds from the open side of the tiny container.

_Shall I set them lose?_ _Let them have their way with you? _

Hunched in a fetal position, he whimpered when one of the dogs launched at him and snapped at his arms and legs. Drops of drool from the beast's maul sprayed on his cheek.

_Will that finally teach you not to fight me? _

The dogs were becoming more and more ferocious, jerking spastically, tugging madly at their bonds, mauls with sharp teeth that stank of rotting meat breathed into his face.

Terrified by the monstrous hounds that were both real and imagined, he crawled away from the front door, forcing his unsteady legs under his body till he was finally standing up. Snow with the color of ash was drifting down into the derelict garden and onto his naked, trembling bod. He was hardly aware of the freezing cold, his mind now only focused on survival and escape. He shuffled as fast as he could to the edge of the garden, dripping drops of crimson on his foot-prints left behind in the grey landscape. Finding the old gap in the hedge, he crawled through and emerged at the other side, covered in scratch wounds inflicted by the barren branches, and trembling like a leaf in the wind of exhaustion and pain.

He cast his hooded eyes around at his surroundings.

Cheswick lane was abandoned. There was not a single living soul in sight.

Limping through the street, he saw that most of the houses were in complete ruin, little more then blackened skeletal frames that even struggled to remain standing. Litter and debris lay scattered everywhere. The air stank of burning chemicals and decay. The road was blocked by countless of vehicles, all stagnant with their engines shut down, as if their owners had collectively walked away from a chaotic traffic jam.

It was as if the whole of human civilization had ended.

He passed by cars that were on fire, billowing thick black smoke into the atmosphere that was already dark and gritty of smog. Other vehicles had smashed-in windows and dented coach-work, and were starting to show signs of rust.

When he finally dared to look into one of them, he found a whole family sitting inside with their seatbelts still on. Their bodies were in a far state of decay, crawling with maggots while hordes of flies buzzed lazily around their eyes and mouths. In the back, there was a child strapped down in a baby carrier. She was as blue and swollen as his dead parents and siblings, with her little tongue pocking out between his lips.

Horrified and increasingly succumbing to a state of shock, he stumbled on through this ruined world. A man who had just awaked from a horrible nightmare, only to find that it had turned into reality.

Soon it was getting dark, but none of the street-lights switched on, leaving the city hidden in a veil of darkness. From every narrow alleyway, the howls of feral dogs rang through the abandoned London streets, calling pack members to come out and hunt. He stopped dead in his track when a large shadow crossed the road, pupils shining with a demonic glow as light of the burning cars reflected on the back of the creature's eyes. More howls followed, this time coming from directly ahead of him. He didn't dare to go any further near that sound. His heart fluttered, a frightened little bird in a rattled cage. He cannot stay out here in the dark. The dogs will find him. Forcing himself to think rationally, his mind struggled, as slow like syrup dripping from a spoon, trying to remember where there was a safe place for him to hide.

An ordinary terrace house from his childhood past came to his mind's eye. A place, he remembered, where he had once felt safe, and protected.

It was right at the end of Cheswick lane.

Donna's house.

* * *

_**The false memories of Donna Noble**_

**4.**

The time vortex inside the window shifted, and Donna was transported to another time in her childhood.

_That's the science museum. Gramps used to take me there during the long summer holidays. God, he still looks so young._

The light inside the time vortex revealed the London museum of natural history. On a busy afternoon, Wilf was searching through the great hall where they kept the whale skeleton displays. He came across a young woman in uniform and stopped her.

"Miss? Can you please help me?" He asked, looking confused. "I am looking for two children, a girl with red hair who's together with a dark-haired boy?"

The woman glanced over Wilf's shoulder and waved at the two boys who were climbing on top of one of the exhibits. "Hey you two! Get out that double helix. It's not a jungle-gym in here!" She shouted before she turned to him. "Sorry sir, it's a public holiday. The place is swamped with kids. I am afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific."

"Well, err…the boy is walking with leg braches, and the girl wears a green coat, does that help?"

Wilf was about to go on describing Donna to her in more detail when a high-pitched scream rose above the noise of the crowd. Wilf turned and saw people running out of the west wing exhibition halls. Parents were dragging their children away, fleeing in blind panic.

"What's going on in there?" Wilf asked, frowning at the confusion. "Why is everybody running?"

"Just stay where you are." The security lady told him hastily.

"But my granddaughter is maybe in there!" He shouted after her as she moved away.

"Please sir. For your own safety, go to the office in the main hall. I will find your granddaughter and bring her to you, all right?" She was pointing out the way to the exit when another visitor almost ran her over.

"In-in the e-evolution hall." The man stammered to her as she tried to steady him. "The-the-the di-di-dinosaurs…they have come alive!"

"Granddad! Help!" Wilf's heart stopped when he recognized Donna's voice shouting out above the turmoil. Without thinking of his own safety, he ran towards the dinosaur exhibits against the chaotic flow of people.

"Hey what are you doing? Don't go in there!" The security lady warned.

"But that's her! That's my granddaughter!" Wilf yelled back, before he disappeared around the corner.

The dinosaur exhibit was made to look like a dark, tropical jungle, and Wilf almost tripped over the floorboards that were placed in the aisle to resemble a wooden footpath.

"Donna!" He called out. "I am here! Where are you!?"

He was answered by a mighty, reptilian roar. Wilf froze when a claw the size of an elephant's foot came down and splintered the wooden path in front of him like it was made out of matchsticks.

Suddenly finding himself facing a full-grown T-rex, Wilf though he was having a horrible nightmare and a heart attack all at the same time. "W-what have you done with my dear Donna you disgusting reptile?!" He managed to say, ignoring his rational mind that was cursing him for trying to converse with an extinct carnivorous dinosaur instead of running away.

"Granddad!" The unexpected shout made him look up into the harsh spotlights that illuminated the T-rex's head. Something green dangled from the creature's maul. "I am up here!"

"D-D-Donna?" Wilf gasped, hardly believing his eyes when he saw her waving at him.

"Can you please tell Martin to put me down? I need to go to the bathroom." She complained.

First, he didn't get what she meant, but then he spotted the boy, sitting there on the back of the T-rex, smirking mischievously with his metal encaged legs wrapped firmly around the terrible lizard's gigantic neck.

"I told you." He lectured Donna. "You cannot outrun a Tyrannosaurus Rex. He can do at least 60 miles an hour. You're lunch Red."

"Put me down!" She told him, crossing her arms over her chest and looking mightily annoyed.

"Only when you admit that I am right." The boy told her stubbornly.

"Granddad!" Donna whined, puffing a red lock of hair out of her face. "Tell him he's an asshole!"

Wilf's panic quickly subsided now he realized that the children were not in any real danger. He should have been more stunned perhaps, but then he had been in pretty weird situations before with these two. "Watch your language young lady! Or I will let you wash out your mouth with soap! What's going on?" _How did that boy ever even manage to climb on top of that thing in the first place?_ "Martin!" Wilf said sternly. "What have you done now?"

"Nothing." Martin showed his most innocent face. "Red and I just thought that the exhibition was really dull. These animatronics are just stupid, they can only open and close their mouth and bob a little with their heads. It would be way more interesting if they could do more stuff." He held up a black box the size of a game console with wires sticking out to show Wilf. "Look." He made a green wire touch a red one, and the T-rex responded, raising itself straight on its hind legs before it let out an ear-shattering roar. "It's far more life-like now." He said, not without smugness.

"Put Donna down immediately, do you hear me!" Wilf was getting angry at how careless the boy was with his granddaughter.

Of course Martin didn't listen, and Wilf was just about to climb up the T-rex himself to get the children down himself when the security lady turned up.

"It has moved from its place." She muttered, taking in the whole situation with stunned expression on her face. "It's supposed to stand over there in the corner next to the Triceratops. How's this possible?" She cast her eyes up to Martin, than on Wilf. "That boy sitting on the back of our T-rex, is that your grandson?"

"Oh no, he's not. Thank God he isn't. Not related at all." Wilf was looking really upset and a bit ashamed now. "Martin, I am warning you for the last time, do as I say or I am going to tell your mother!"

The boy pouted in disagreement and made the T-rex snort in contempt. Still, the threat was working as he finally listened and slowly lowered down the dinosaur's gigantic head to put down Donna. As soon as the girl's feet touched the ground, she wheeled around and stuck her tongue out at him.

Martin rolled his eyes. "Oh how mature." He muttered. "I only did this because she asked me to. It was all Donna's idea." He explained to Wilf. Then, with as little less attitude, he asked. "Please don't go tell my mom."

"Oh you wouldn't want that, would you! You both are nothing but trouble together. Now get off that thing immediately, no whining and no pouting young man." Wilf said, wagging a strict finger at him. "And not a word from you young lady." Wilf added, noticing that Donna was about to complain about her playmate. "Not until we're home."

"I am so sorry about this." Wilf told the security lady, after he had confiscated the remote from Martin. He clumsily stuffed back the loose wires inside and handed it back to her, odd pieces falling off. "Kids hey." He added, as if this was about as normal as it could get, shrugging apologetically. "You can't take them anywhere without causing a scene."

The security lady took the black box without saying a word, but kept staring nervously at the two angel-faced children as they were hastily ushered out of the hall by the old man.

* * *

_**Breaking**_

**5.**

Donna's house was still standing, albeit barely. He was so grateful that he was able to find it that he almost cried out of sheer relief. With stiff frozen fingers he pushed in the doorbell. When it didn't ring, he knocked his fists on the door, first hesitantly, then urgently, banging on the surface till a flashlight shone from behind the frosted window-pane.

"Who's there?" A man sneered at him. He sounded hoarse, worn by age and tragedy, but still sounding very determined to protect his home and the people inside. "I can see you, standing out there on my porch. Identify yourself or I will shoot. I am armed you see. I am warning you!"

His heart-beat quickened when he recognized the man's voice. It was Wilf. Donna's granddad. Kind and wonderful Wilf. He opened his mouth, eager to communicate, and was about to say his name when the man returned to his sub-consciousness. _What exactly are you doing?_ He yanked savagely on the chains of his neck collar, stopping the air-flow to his lungs, slowly strangling him. _A good dog does not bark without his master's permission._

"Do you hear me!? I want to know who you are!"

He wheezed, hyperventilating as he clawed at his throat. He desperately wanted to call out to Wilf, but he couldn't. The imaginary restrain was closing his windpipe and his words died a silent death between desperate gasps for air. As his eyes filled with frustrated tears, he only was capable to utter a string of inaudible raps and hisses.

"I count to 3. Either you go away or you speak up, If not, I will definitely shoot!" Suddenly, there was hesitation and fear in Wilf's voice. "It's not like I haven't done it before!" Wilf said, more in an attempt to reassure himself than to add an additional threat.

He opened and closed his mouth, forcefully pushing the little air that was left out of his lungs as he tried again to form words, but he couldn't. He couldn't say his name.

_My dear boy, you don't have a name. None but the name I gave you. I don't want the old fellow to shoot you though. Such a dilemma.. _

"One!"

_Do you remember how I taught you to bark? _He shuddered and violently arched his back when a phantom whip cracked on his backside. The pain was so real that he almost bit his lower lip in half.

"Two!"

_Come on then my boy, bark. Bark for your master! _

"Three!" Followed by the sound of a cocking gun.

"Wilf!" He screamed wretchedly, finally regaining his voice. "Wilf! Please! Please! Wilf!"

He didn't stop screaming until the door opened to a narrow gap.

The short barrel of Wilf's service revolver stuck out, aimed at his chest. He squinted and shielded his eyes against the flashlight that hit his face. For a moment he panicked, thinking that the man had come back to take him away. Then the beam went away. Blinking, he saw a pair of watery grey eyes stare at him through the narrow opening. The old man's face had become much harder, lined by worries, his grey board had turned almost completely white, but it was Wilf. Kind and wonderful Wilf. He had known him since he was a little boy. He trusted him.

"Oh my Lord." Wilf muttered, lowering his revolver when he finally realized who was in front of him. Oblivious now of Wilf's gun, he dropped on his knees and hugged onto the old man's legs while uttering a string of incoherent gibberish, begging him not to send him back to the man and the hounds. He had wanted to go home for so long. He had endured so much, but now both his parents were dead, and the world he used to know was gone, and he didn't know why – he just didn't understand…

Shocked by his frail state, Wilf wrapped his arms around his bony shoulders, only to be alarmed by how cold he felt. After being exposed to the elements for almost an entire day, he was like a lump of ice. "Donna!" Wilf screamed back into the house. "Help me! Help me get him inside! Quickly!"

**_To be continued_**


End file.
